Tails, Scales and Scones

This story contains explicit sexual material and should not be read by minors.

Written as a bit of a challenge from a Livejournal post, this story shows where the phrase “The Birds and the Bees” came from. This story contains graphic, if unusual, sex scenes.

Far back in the mists of time, before the great empires of Britain, Rome and Egypt, back when humans were barely more than simple-minded cave-folk, the woods and plains and moors of the world were populated by numerous spirits. These spirits took many forms, there being a spirit for everything on the earth. Slow, small, ground-dwelling spirits would eventually be called stones. Powerful, graceful, spot-covered spirits would come to be known as cheetahs. Ephemeral, fast-moving spirits would be named the air.

Everything was alive, everything had a voice. And, as naming was still a young field, some spirits could still change form.

It was a cold, autumnal morning. Dew glittered heavily on the grass, caressing the small, green stems with it’s watery goodness. The air, as was his wont, mimicked the dew and filled himself with water. The fog that resulted was patchy, drifting over the bramble bushes and between the birch trunks.

A small bird alighted on a high branch, her tail bobbing up and down as she maintained her balance. She looked around for a moment, her head flitting about with quick movements, before she spread her wings again and flew to a lower branch on a different tree. Her wings moved quickly, barely visible in the weak sunlight.

This bird had no name as yet. Her beak was a simple greyish-brown, her back and wings a deep, iridescent black and her breast the yellow of sunlight on a summer’s day.

The bird flew to the ground and pecked at the soft ground for a moment before pulling a worm out with her beak. For a moment she stood there with the invertebrate between her beak, then she changed form. Her small, roundish body seemed to fade from view for a moment then grew somewhat before fading back in her spirit form.

The bird now had a distinct humanoid form, yet still with a strong influence of her animal form. She was about two feet tall and stood more upright. Her feet remained almost identical, large-toed and yellow-skinned. Her wings had changed radically, though; no longer were they wide and flat, now they more resembled arms with hands at the end, but feathers still covering them and cascading down. She was entirely naked, but without shame for all spirits were naked.

She sat on the soft, wet ground and bit the head off the worm, chewing happily as she looked around. A movement caught her eye and she spotted a familiar figure. A tiny little dot of a spirit flitted close to the ground, stopping occasionally at a hardy flower or a persistent weed. This was a bee, not named as such yet for no-one knew of him except his fellow spirits. In his animal form he was small and furry with yellow and black stripes encircling his large belly. He noticed the bird and came to a hover just in front of her. He too changed form, becoming a fat man-like spirit, but retaining his fur and his wings.

“Lunchtime already?” he asked. The bee’s voice was little more than a string of buzzes, but the bird understood him perfectly.

“No,” she twittered with a smile. “Just a snack. How are you? I’ve not seen you for days.”

The bee landed next to his friend and sat beside her. “You know me, always busy. I’ve been down by the river the past few days.”

The bird nodded her head, a quick, flicking movement. “Too busy to stop and chat?” She tilted her head to one side, questioningly.

“I’m never too busy for a friend.” The bee laid a hand on the bird’s thigh. She didn’t shy away for the two of them were close friends. She simply sighed. “What’s the matter?” asked the bee, his wings shivering briefly in concern.

“It’s this new law the elders have given us. They say that, in order to protect our species and avoid overpopulation, we must only mate once a year.”

“Once a year?” buzzed the bee in astonishment. Spirits were, in general, highly sexual beings. They were sexually mature from the moment they were born or hatched or whatever. Only the slower spirits such as the rocks and the mountains mated so infrequently.

The bird nodded and took another bite of worm before continuing. “They say that Mating Season will be the next big thing, but I can’t wait that long. It’s been three months already since I last mated. I’m worried I’ll forget how!”

The bee buzzed to himself in sympathy, then caressed his friend’s thigh, his paw-like appendage ruffling her jet-black feathers. “You’ve been told you can’t mate with another bird for another nine months, right?”

The bird nodded disconsolately. “What if it wasn’t with another bird?” asked the bee. The bird looked at him with surprise for a moment, her beak open. Then she smiled at him.

“They didn’t say anything about that.”

The bee smiled and leaned over to kiss her. He opened his mandibles and she opened her beak and their tongues came together. He tasted of pollen and royal jelly, she of the worm she had just eaten.

They broke the kiss with a smile. Although they were close friends, they have never mated with each other before. The change in their relationship made both of them tingle with anticipation.

Slowly, like a newborn spirit’s first time, the bee ran an appendage down the bird’s naked body. The bee realised that she was very sexy, her yellow and black feathers soft under his paw. As his paw moved over her breast, feeling the strong wing muscles beneath, he thought not of her lack of mammaries. Neither birds nor bees were encumbered by such lumps of fat. Instead, both the spirits had light, taut bodies, trimmed down to the minimum to allow flight.

The bird closed her eyes and cooed as the bee’s paw approached her feathered thighs. Between them, extending from the front to just below her tail was a part of her body not covered by feathers. Here the pink skin of her sexual and faecal organs broke through, a stark contrast to the black feathers around them.

The bee reached the bird’s vulva and he was pleased to find that she was already quite wet for him. He smiled into her eyes and began to rub at her tiny pink mound with his pollen-laden paw. She curled her talons in delight, the sharp claws raking the peaty soil as she felt the pleasure she’d so missed for three months.

The bird looked over and caressed the bee’s stripey fur. It was thick and luxuriant in this form. Her hand drifted southwards, meeting his uncoiling genitals. She marvelled at the length of his thin, black shaft. Tenderly she leaned down to meet the still-lengthening tube and took it into her beak. Her powerful tongue caressed the pollen-flavoured penis making the bee quiver with delight. For a few minutes her beak was busy on the insect’s oversized equipment, before she pulled off the saliva soaked shaft.

“Take me,” she said plainly, the need obvious in her eyes. She lay back, the soft, wet soil giving slightly to support her. The bee stepped between the bird’s feathered legs, his faceted eyes fully expressing his lust at her naked form. The bee grasped his long hard prick and rubbed the tip of it against her wet sex. Even though the bee’s member was thin, the bird’s vulva was very tight. The bee pressed himself forward, the tip of his shaft burying into the bird’s privates. She squawked with pleasure as she felt the penetration. Being without a male for so long had made her more sensitive than usual.

The bee placed his forelimbs on the bird’s muscular chest, burying them in the thick yellow feathers as he buried his penis into her vagina. Inch by inch it slipped into her until finally all of it’s six long inches were inside the avian spirit.

The bird gasped, her beak opening and closing silently as she delighted in the feel of the bee’s slick member filling her so fully. Most birds were only three or four inches long and it was fantastic to be filled by such an enormous cock. The bee waited a moment then slid his shaft back until only the tip remained. Then, with a loud buzz of his wings he slammed his full length deep into the bird. She squawked again as a wave of pleasure flooded her brain. Her fingers dug deep into the mulch beneath her as she bucked her light hips up to meet the bee’s thrusts. Again and again he slammed into her, pounding her small sex with his huge cock. Each thrust pushed the bird a little along the ground until she was getting mud up her anus, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the electric pleasure exploding through her body as orgasms tossed her about.

Soon the bee gasped. He could feel the pressure building inside him. He held it back as long as he could, increasing the force of his orgasm until, with a loud buzzing of his transparent wings he slipped back inside the bird’s hot hole and pumped his load of hot insect cum inside her.

The wood rang with the buzzing and squawking of the two in orgasm until they finally collapsed together, sweaty, panting but both thoroughly satisfied. The bee’s penis, rapidly shrinking back into him, was followed by a large amount of his cum from his lover’s vulva.

Silver birches, like other floral spirits, took their time over things. They looked down on the fleeting lives of the fauna, laughing as they rushed around only to die after a few years. The Birch lived langourous lives, living for several times longer than most animal spirits. Yet even they lived at a breakneck speed compared to the mountains and the rocks.

One particular birch had seen the bird and the bee mating at his roots. He watched in wonder as they courted, aroused and mated each other within the blink of an eye. As they left, he noticed the liquids of their mating soaking into the rich soil. Over the course of the next day he extended a root out to this damp patch and drank deeply of their love.

The mixture was highly potent to the tree, the animal seed flowed through his sap like fire. He turned his branches towards a large bramble bush that grew nearby. She lived a slightly more active life than the birch and had often mated with the trees when the males or females were out of season.

“Did ya see those two?” creaked the birch. His speech was slow and drawled.

“Sure did sugar,” replied the bush. She was a quick talker with a sultry voice. “Ah also saw what ya did with that there seed.”

The birch flushed, the sap taking nearly half an hour to tinge his bark. “It’s made me so aroused. Now I think I know why those animals are always at it.”

The bramble started to move towards the birch. To the animals, soil is firm and solid but to the trees and plants, who move through it more slowly it is no more of a problem than sea water would be to an animal. The bramble extended a thorned stem out to the tall tree and caressed his rough bark.

“Ah know what ya mean, honey. Seeing them at it always gets me in the mood. Darn irritating that time, last year, when I had a family of squirrels nesting in me.”

The birch rustled his dry leaves in appreciation of the humour. “I don’t suppose you’d want to…” he said as the sun set again.

“Ah’ve been waiting all day for you ta say that!”

The bramble moved closer to the birch, encircling him with her long barbed stems. The birch rustled at the feel of her on his thick bark. She was well experienced in the ways of pollination and knew just where to caress him. Within only a few hours a knot, halfway up his slender trunk, started to grow. A shaft of new wood slowly pushed its way out. It was covered in fresh white bark and filled with the tree’s thick sap.

The bramble watched in delight as the tree’s stump grew. By the time the sun rose it was fully three feet long. The bramble touched a fruit-laded tendril to the tip and was rewarded by the bark shrivling back to reveal an impressive length of tender, sap-swollen wood.

The bramble’s berries swelled with juice as she took in the sight of his gorgeous branch. He was very well hung for a birch. Slowly, she wrapped a tendril around his girth, ensuring her fruit was close to the sensitive wood. The birch swayed and rustled, the touch of another plant fuelling his already heightened desire. He reached down with a low branch and ran his twigs through the bramble’s leaves.

“Mmm… That’s so good,” sighed the tree.

The bramble was pleased that he was enjoying this as much as she was. It had been several months since she’d had a tree as virile and needy as this one. She tightened her tendrils and her fruit burst against the wood, turning it purple as the juice seeped across it.

The birch swayed his trunk and the wood swelled within the brambles tender stems. “Oh yeah,” creaked the tree. “You really know how to give a fruit job.”

The bramble rattled her thorns. “So glad ya like that, darlin’.”

The sun set again as the bramble wrapped three thin, leafy tenrils around the tree’s trunk. Ripples of pleasure flowed through the tree, filling him from root to leaf. “Oh yes, That’s it…” he groaned.

As the birch neared orgasm the bramble suddenly turned her thorns to him, grating sharply against his silver bark. The birch came hard, clouds of pollen and a stream of sap pumping from his erect stump. For nearly an hour the aroused tree orgasmed, covering the bramble with a fine mist of his delicious pollen and making his bark glisten with a slick of sap.

The bramble, happy to have relieved a close friend, ran some leaves over the thick sap, tasting the bitter tree-juice.

“Thank you,” said the birch, as he drew large quantities of water from the morning rain soaked soil.

“No, thank you, sugar,” replied the bramble. “It’s good to know I’ve still got my touch.”

The birch pressed some branches against the bush in a warm embrace.

High above the forest a snow-capped mountain looked across the sea. Over the course of a year he said to the beautiful young hill. “Say, What’re you doing next century?”